


darling, so it goes (some things are meant to be)

by boatstoesta



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Famous Beca Mitchell, First Meetings, Pining Idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boatstoesta/pseuds/boatstoesta
Summary: Beca Mitchell is in New York City to film a music video when a stranger runs into her and makes her spill her coffee.
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 40
Kudos: 291





	darling, so it goes (some things are meant to be)

The mere sight of a Starbucks feels like a blow to Beca’s caffeine-deprived body. She groans in relief as she opens the shop door, tucking her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she slides in. Anything to get off that freezing cold sidewalk and out from the heavily falling snow.

“You’re joking,” Beca says, stopping in her tracks. She pulls a glove off with her teeth. “They want me to perform on New Year’s Eve?” 

Her agent chuckles on the other side of the phone, clearly getting a kick out of her shock. One glove off and realizing she looks ridiculous, she shakes the other off distractedly. 

She isn’t used to dealing with all of this winter gear—she’s only spending one weekend here in New York City to film a music video, and then it’s right back to sunny Los Angeles. That flight can’t come soon enough. 

“Yes, Beca,” Paul states. “They want you.”

“Holy shit.” She’s trying to process this as she realizes she’s next in line and the poor barista is staring at her, waiting for her to order. “Um, hi. Hi. Can I have a medium hazelnut latte, please?” 

The girl, who can’t be older than 17, shakily accepts her credit card, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “You’re…” She stands there with it in her hand. “You’re Beca Mitchell.”

Beca smirks good-naturedly. “Yeah, that’s me,” she says. It isn’t often that she makes trips like this without some form of pause from a fan. 

People don’t always recognize her at first, a blissful buffer in time, but it’s easy to make out when people do. Like shaky teenager baristas, for example. Sometimes people squint in her direction for too long, the atmosphere of a room intensifying until everyone falls silent. Until the whispers start, that is. But Beca isn’t fazed anymore. Sure, it can be lonely, being pointed to by almost everyone she comes into contact with outside her trusted circle, but it comes with the career. 

The girl doesn’t say anything, she just turns around in a mild state of shock and begins to make the drink. Beca makes a mental note to give her an extra large tip. 

She takes her coffee and walks to the exit, raising the cup of steaming liquid to her lips.

_“Bec, you still there?”_

She’s right in the middle of a sip that scalds her mouth when she realizes the phone call is still running. “Ouch, fuck. Yeah, sorry, I’m here. Tell them I’ll take the gig, but don’t—“ 

A flash of red hair is her only warning as an _oof_ leaves her mouth. She all but gets hit by a train and her coffee explodes in her hand. 

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry.” 

Beca looks down at her cream-colored wrap coat, now covered by the hot-fucking-beverage she’d only taken one sip from. Grimacing, she glances down at her phone. Pressing it against her ear, she mutters, “Um, Paul? I’m going to have to call you back.”

“I can’t believe I just took you out like that. I am so so sorry. I’ll pay for a new coffee.” She winces as she does another once over on Beca. “Um, and a new jacket. I think this one has just been effectively ruined.”

The stranger’s blue eyes catch her off guard when she finally takes the time to meet them. Is it even _normal_ to have eyes that blue? As the snow falls around them she can’t help but think that they match the weather.

“You don’t have to pay for anything,” Beca says awkwardly, glancing back down at her jacket. 

She must not recognize Beca, which is a godsend. This woman has no way of knowing that Beca has had more money than she knows to do with since her first single dropped at 23 years old and that she is perfectly capable of buying herself another jacket, let alone another coffee.

“At least let me get you another coffee.” 

Beca smirks at her determination. “I’m actually running behind, I shouldn’t even have stopped for a coffee in the first place. It’s okay, though, really. You looked like you were in a hurry, too.”

The strange woman doesn’t quite look convinced, the apologetic drawn eyebrows saying it all. She looks at her watch. 

“Seriously, it’s okay,” Beca says, backing away from the redhead. “Have a good one, alright?”

“Alright, fine, fine.” She sighs in defeat. Beca is already walking away when she hears her call out to her. “Hey! Merry Christmas.”

Beca turns around to see a warm smile being thrown her way. Her chest floats in an unexpected way. She waves as she turns the corner, red hair disappearing from sight.

***

The door to the studio slams open. Cursing as she tugs a glove off, she pulls her phone out to call Paul. If she has to deal with this studio’s unprofessional crap, he has to hear her bitch about it. 

As soon as he picks up she starts going off about the nude scene the director would not stop insisting on, the argument that ended today’s recording session. 

“Of course I don’t want to, Paul. You should have been there when he came to me with the idea. He was all, ‘You absolutely have to do this. Don’t worry, it’ll be great.’ God, he sounded just like my dad. It took everything I had not to punch him in the throat.”

Beca is so engrossed by this phone call and hastily getting back to her hotel room that she doesn’t see the patch of ice—no, she absolutely feels it before she sees it.

***

The bustling of the emergency room doesn’t help with the lovely headache Beca now has, nor does it help the deep annoyance she’s starting to have with this city. One December weekend in New York is enough to make her miss Southern California winters where snow is just a myth and a bad dream.

The nurse walks in with a sly smile on her face. “Beca Mitchell, huh? My daughter is a fan. She makes me play your newest song every time we get in the minivan.”

Beca does her best to cover her irritation at the idea of anyone having to be forced to play her music, but she bites her tongue. 

“That’s me,” she says with a forced smile.

The nurse asks her all the standard questions, checks her vitals, and moves along in no time. _Thank you._

A hand on the curtain alerts Beca to the presence of someone new. Finally, she can see this doctor and get out of here. The curtain is pulled back, and Beca’s mouth drops open. She’s met with the sight of the doctor looking over an iPad that presumably has her medical chart on it.

“Miss Mitchell… I’m Dr. Beale, I’ll be taking care of you. Nurse Tracy tells me we took a bad fall today?”

Ice-blue eyes glance up and meet Beca’s, a wide smile immediately taking over her goddess-like features. “Oh. Hi, stranger.”

The badge on her chest catches her eye. “Dr. Chloe Beale,” Beca says dumbly. The odds of running into her again… there’s no way, Beca thinks. 

“The one and only.” She steps forward and gives Beca a once-over, very much in a medical capacity. “Says here on your chart you hit your head. How did this happen?” 

“I was leaving… work,” she decides last-minute, realizing she didn’t want this intriguing stranger to know anything about her job. It isn’t often she gets these beautifully anonymous moments. “And my heel didn’t agree with a patch of ice under it.”

Chloe nods. “Looks like you have a pretty nasty bump on your head.”

Beca’s hand comes up to cover it self consciously. “It’s really not that bad. I only came because my, um, coworker insisted. I’m fine. Honestly.”

Shaking her head with a little chuckle, Chloe looks at her with the most adorable eyes Beca has ever seen. 

“I’ll be the judge of that, but yes, I’m sure everything is more than fine. I still have to check you out, though.”

Trying not to let her cheeks give her away at the term _‘check you out,’_ Beca nods. Warm fingers find her chin. Her eyes widen in surprise as Chloe tilts her head to the side to see the offending bruise a little better. “Hm.”

“Hm?” Beca repeats back nervously.

Ignoring her, Chloe grabs a pen flashlight from the pocket of her light blue scrubs. “Follow the light with your eyes for me, Beca.”

Beca does as she’s told, trying not to be distracted by the blurry but gorgeous doctor right behind that bright annoying light. 

“Good girl,” Chloe says, squeezing her knee. Beca nearly passes out right then. “Well, you’re not showing any significant signs of a concussion, so I think we’re fine to release you. Just treat yourself extra nice with some ice for the swelling, alright?” She scratches something down on her prescription pad. “I’ll let them know at the nurse’s station to discharge you and get you out of here.”

“What’s the prescription for, then?”

Chloe tears it off and hands it over to Beca. “That’s my phone number. I would really, really like to make up for the spilled coffee. You’re beginning to make me think I started a streak of bad luck for you.”

Accepting the piece of paper, Beca can’t help but think that running into this woman twice in New York City couldn’t be bad luck, not in any sense of the word.

***

“Hey, Chloe. This is Beca. Um, from the coffee shop. And the hospital,” she says lamely.

She balls her hand into a fist and presses it to her forehead, willing herself to sound normal at the very minimum. 

“Hi, Beca. I’m so glad you called.”

“Yeah?” She tries to shake off her building attraction. She doesn’t want to want this woman. She has to go back to California, back to her actual life, and once that happens she is never going to see Chloe again. She hardly knows this woman, she tells herself. No harm done.

“Of course. I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to,” Chloe teases. “So? What do you say?”

Beca pauses her pacing, mouth parting slightly. “What do I say to… what?”

“Coffee. Don’t tell me that the bump on your head is causing memory loss. Then I really didn’t do my job.”

“Right, about that. My… boss moved my flight home up, trying to avoid the worst of this snowstorm that’s coming. I’m headed to the airport in a few hours and I still need to pack. I won’t have time to see you again, but I didn’t want to leave you hanging. I’m sorry, Chloe.”

And she really is sorry—an overwhelmingly huge part of her feels like it’s more of a need to see this doctor again than a want. But another part of her, perhaps bigger than she would like to admit, is relieved to have a reason to cancel. Beca can’t remember the last time someone made her feel like this, all stumbling words and pounding heart, and… normal. She feels like a regular person with Chloe.

And that’s all good and well. Except that Beca doesn’t have room in her life for this, for normal. 

Her body is being pulled like a magnet in Chloe’s direction. Her brain, on the other hand, is pulling her the opposite way. Beca is sure she wouldn’t survive Chloe. Her heart doesn’t need any incentives to fall into her clutches.

“That’s too bad,” Chloe murmurs. The disappointment in her voice carries it straight into Beca’s chest. “Travelling on Christmas Eve, huh? Sounds lonely.”

Beca shrugs despite the fact that Chloe cannot see her. “It’s normal for me at this point.”

“So, Beca, tell me. Where is home, then?”

“Home is Los Angeles.”

“Pretty far away.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Well, Beca from L.A., if you should find yourself in New York again… call. I’d love to see you again. Preferably outside of the emergency room.”

“I’d like that, too.” Beca’s voice is smaller than she meant it to be.

***

Packing her suitcase, Beca can’t seem to shake thoughts about Chloe. It’s strange to Beca, the way she can’t control it. She sees Chloe’s eyes playing behind her own and thinks about how far away Chloe is from California, and how that’s suddenly all she wants to be all the time.

Paul’s name pops up on her phone screen. She taps open the message.

**Paul:**  
_Just got a call that all flights out of New York have been canceled because of the storm. Stay holed up for another couple of days, and we’ll get you home in time for the performance._

An hour later Beca’s phone is buzzing in her hand. Knowing exactly what’s about to happen, she answers Chloe’s call. 

“Couldn’t help but see on the news that all flights have been canceled because of the blizzard.”

“It would appear so,” Beca says, biting her cheek to keep from smirking.

“The streak of bad luck continues.” Chloe sighs wistfully. “There is a silver lining, though. This means we can have coffee together. I do still owe you.”

“Pretty sure everything is closed because of the storm, Chloe.”

“I just so happen to have a lovely coffee maker. The right thing to do here is clearly to allow the guilt-ridden girl to fix her careless mistake.”

Beca stops. “Is that so?”

Chloe’s voice gets quiet. “That’s so.”

This woman is going to be the death of her.

***

Despite the precarious situation at hand, Beca walks the six blocks it takes to reach Chloe’s loft apartment. When she knocks on the door, apartment 32B, it takes only moments for Chloe to greet her. That warm smile that makes Beca melt is intact.

“Come in, come in,” Chloe insists. 

Beca steps into the apartment, greeted by the sight of the kitchen with steel appliances, gray granite countertops, and low lighting. It has an open floor plan, the living room with elegant cream-colored couches beyond the kitchen. Floor-to-ceiling windows expose the city to them in the bright-white glow of winter, and Beca can’t help but think it’s peaceful here. It feels homier than her L.A. penthouse suite ever will. 

It occurs to her that it might feel homier if she had someone like Chloe to come home to. 

She snaps out of it and swallows when Chloe closes the door with an unmistakable click. Suddenly Beca is trying to process this turn of events, how she came to New York for a quick music video and ended up here with a really hot doctor she only just met. 

Beca stays planted by the door as Chloe floats into the kitchen. 

“Maybe some coffee will warm you up,” Chloe suggests. 

She opens white cupboards to pull out two cute mint-green mugs. Chloe wears light-colored skinny jeans and a soft grey henley shirt that makes Beca think about touching her arms where she rolled the sleeves. Her eyes follow the buttons down her chest to their natural conclusion. 

Beca clears her throat, averting her gaze. “That sounds really nice. The snow is really coming down out there.”

“I know, your hair is filled with it.”

Her hand reaches up to brush it away. “Oh, that’s perfect.”

Chloe leans against the counter, taking Beca in with such a deep appreciation that it makes her freeze all over again. “It really is,” she says, not even the most fleeting hint of a joke in her voice. “You gonna stand by that door all day? Come here.”

Beca isn’t sure it’s possible for a woman to ignore a command from Chloe. She has an awful impulse to listen to every demand she could ever have. With an erratic heartbeat, Beca steps into the kitchen.

***

She doesn’t realize that hours have passed until she glances out the window to realize the sun is completely gone, her eyes only met with the city lights. Beca can’t tell where the streets end and the sidewalks begin thirty stories down, all covered by the same thick blanket of snow. It’s coming down fast now, fast enough that Beca can hardly see the building across from them.

Chloe is on the phone in the kitchen, a call from work stealing her away from their conversation on the couch. 

Beca turns away from the window when she sees Chloe approaching in the reflection. 

“That was the hospital. The on-call doctors have all made it in so they’ve told me just to shelter in place for the storm.”

“Shelter in place?”

Chloe walks over to the television, flipping it to the news. A news anchor in a plain grey suit is saying the same thing: the mayor is advising everyone to stay inside for at least the next twenty-four hours due to dangerously low temperatures and a blizzard of increasing intensity. Only emergency responders are authorized to be outside.

“Twenty-four hours…” Beca repeats in shock. 

“That streak of luck continues, huh?”

Beca can’t help but notice that she didn’t say ‘bad luck’ this time.

***

“I haven’t had free time in so long. I work so many hours at the hospital, I’m always too tired to do stuff like this when I get home.”

Chloe sets a box down with a huff. The side is clearly labeled ‘Christmas Decorations’ in thick sharpie. Opening it up, Beca is met with the sight of shiny lights and glittery ornaments.

“I can’t remember the last time I decorated a place for Christmas,” Beca says without thinking. She feels an itch on her heart. “I, uh… I think it must have been before college.”

“That’s a long time,” Chloe responds softly.

“Yeah, it is,” Beca agrees. Almost ten years. She didn’t realize it’s something she missed until this moment, truthfully. She rips her eyes from the decorations and looks at Chloe. “Um, do you want to get started, or—?”

Chloe smiles back with all the warmth of a SoCal sun in the dead of summer. “Of course I do.” She passes Christmas tree figures over to Beca. “Put these wherever you think they look good.”

A welcome distraction, Beca chooses the end table next to the couch while Chloe pulls lights out of the box. 

“Oh my gosh, these are so tangled,” Chloe laughs. “I don’t think I did a very good job of putting these away last year.”

Beca scoffs. “Aren’t doctors supposed to have excellent attention to detail or something?”

Chloe looks at Beca indignantly. “At work, I have excellent attention to detail, thank you very much.”

Beca gives her a skeptical look but says nothing, earning her an equally indignant scoff from Chloe. 

“It’s too quiet in here,” Chloe mutters. “Let me turn some Christmas music on.”

“Oh, no, don’t tell me you’re one of those.” Beca’s ears might bleed if she has to listen to a single sleigh bell ring.

“ _One of those?_ Tsk, tsk, Beca Mitchell. I thought music was supposed to be your thing.”

Sure enough, _I’ll Be Home for Christmas_ starts playing from the Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table. Beca’s eyes snap up to hers. “My thing?”

“You know. Being that you’re a famous musician. One who talks surprisingly little about her music. Or her own life at that.”

Beca tries not to squirm under Chloe’s gaze. It’s just a curious gaze, and it’s something Beca should be used to at this point. A curious gaze. She experiences them nearly every time she leaves her house, millions of them on social media. So why does Chloe feel so different?

“Um,” Beca says, avoiding her eyes. “I thought you didn’t know who I was,” she answers truthfully. “I guess I was just… enjoying the anonymity. Should have known it was probably too good to be true, huh? You knew this whole time?” she says in a small voice. 

Chloe shrugs. “Well, yeah. Your songs always play in the waiting rooms and on TV. They’re really good, by the way.”

Beca just nods through the burning shame. Of course, it’s not something she could have hidden forever, but it’d been nice not to have to think about that inescapable part of her identity when she was with Chloe.

“It’s okay.” She walks over to Beca and grabs her wrist lightly, moving her hand down until her fingers are sliding between Beca’s. “It has nothing to do with why I like you. You know that, right?”

Her mouth parts to respond. Beca wants to respond—she genuinely does. She doesn’t know why it’s so hard to find words sometimes. She’s perfectly aware that Chloe is sitting there, anticipating her response, and the longer she does the harder it is to just answer. All Beca knows is that this woman just said she likes her. That deserves something more than silence. 

Chloe likes her, and Beca likes her, more than she should. Enough that it makes her painfully aware of how sullen her life alone in L.A. really is. 

“I’m supposed to be this big-name musician, not some lame dork who apparently doesn’t have a coordinated bone in her body. No one sees me like that.”

“I do. I think you’re the lamest dork.”

“Thanks,” Beca mutters, rolling her eyes.

“I mean it. And I really, really like lame dorks.”

There she goes again. Beca doesn’t know what to do with Chloe, she realizes. Not even a little. “I like you, too,” Beca finally murmurs. 

There’s a silent lull, Beca’s unblinking eyes on hers, Chloe’s face blushing. She’s so close, and God, Beca wants her. Standing there amid the rhythmic breathing and the stillness of a world put on pause, she wants her so bad. 

“Good.” Chloe smirks lightly, and it forces Beca’s gaze to her lips. “Then it should be no problem for you to tolerate my Christmas music.”

A choppy laugh escapes the back of Beca’s throat and she forgets herself for a moment. “Fine, fine. Play it.”

Chloe picks the Christmas lights back up, moving so naturally as she places them. There’s an elegance to her movements that seems to match the snowfall.

She begins to sing along quietly. Beca doesn’t hear the words so much as the cadence and tune of her voice. She sings so confidently, so immersed in the song, and Beca can hear the smile in her voice. The sound of that smile makes Beca think she might love Christmas music if it was always sung by Chloe.

***

An hour later, the apartment is decked out with garland and lights hanging delicately above them. Placing a snow globe on the island in the kitchen, Beca turns to Chloe.

“This has been great and all, but if I hear one more Mariah Carey song I will riot.”

“I’m sheltering you from a deadly storm. The least you can do is pretend to like it.”

Beca shakes her head. “I really, really can’t.”

“My house, my rules,” Chloe says, taking a break from the string of lights she’s working on in the kitchen. “The Christmas music stays on until the decorations are up.”

That attitude is so attractive. Beca hates herself a little for the way she’s been burning for Chloe since the minute she met her. 

She likes to consider herself a bold person. She can get on stage in front of thousands of people and perform her heart out, she can tell her agent to go fuck himself when she has to. She can handle Chloe, she tells herself. She can.

Chloe is still looking at her as she steps forward. The string of lights she was just placing dangles down halfway across the window. She knows perfectly well she’s invaded Chloe’s personal space as she reaches for it, hooking it on the corner.

Her eyes fall back to Chloe’s. A surge of amusement courses through her as she realizes Chloe is holding her breath.

“Aren’t you just Santa’s little helper?” Chloe murmurs. The space between their bodies is so small already, but Beca holds her ground as Chloe steps in. 

It’s painfully clear that Chloe has a gift for getting what she wants. It radiates from within her. But Beca wants something, too. She doesn’t know what to feel—nervous, terrified, or aroused by the possibility of Chloe’s hands on her. As Chloe’s presence consumes her own, her reservations float away like smoke. 

Chloe grabs the nape of her neck, her eyes lowering to Beca’s lips. Still trying to remember how to breathe herself, she feels the weight of that touch in her stomach before it settles between her legs. 

Frozen, Chloe waits, searching Beca’s eyes as though she’s looking for any sign of hesitation. She’ll find none. 

Beca can’t help but reach for Chloe’s arm. She clutches it desperately where it drapes between them, and that seems to be the queue for Chloe to put them both out of their weekend-long suffering. 

The shock of so-soft lips against each other sets them free, and then all bets are off. The kiss builds with their arousal until Beca is being pushed toward the countertop.

Beca’s breasts press against Chloe’s chest and a shiver rolls through her body. She doesn’t know if Chloe meant for the kiss to turn into this, but Beca isn’t complaining. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Chloe groans against Beca’s throat. 

An arm wraps around Beca’s middle, and before she realizes, she’s being lifted onto the kitchen counter. It’s cold against her thighs, but the thought only lasts mere seconds as Chloe becomes eye level with her chest, and God, her lips feel so good right there. 

Hands drift from Beca’s midsection to her thighs and back up more than once. Hot lips capture her throat and Beca can’t help but tilt her head to give Chloe better access. 

“Fuck,” Beca mutters. She grasps the edge of the counter while Chloe works her neck with slow kisses and scrapes of her teeth. 

“Oh, you like that?” Chloe says through a smirk. 

Beca acts on instinct alone when her hand grips Chloe’s hair, pulling it back so she can kiss that smug mouth into silence. Her lips dominate Beca’s regardless, a soft sound of satisfaction leaving her throat. 

Chloe’s hands run down her sides again from just beneath her breasts to the tops of her thighs, and Beca desperately wants Chloe to pick one or the other. To just go up just a little further or down a little lower. To give her _something._

“Beale,” Beca gasps against her lips. 

Chloe’s lips pause, eyes opening. Her gaze locks onto Beca’s as her hands skate back down. One slides around, grasping the top of her ass to hold her firmly in place, the other still torturing Beca on her thigh.

Their lips still lined up, Beca covers Chloe’s hand with her own, guiding it to her aching center. That’s all the guidance Chloe needs—she presses against Beca’s clit with one perfect motion, making the emptiness that pulsed between Beca’s legs that much stronger.

“Take off your shirt,” Chloe demands.

While Beca obeys, Chloe pulls her leggings down and drops them to the floor. Now Beca sits on the counter in only her pink bra and matching lace thong. Underwear that she had intentionally matched when she knew she would be coming here without wanting to admit to herself why. 

When she spreads her legs, the cool air makes her realize just how wet those panties are. Chloe finds out almost immediately as her thumb brushes along the soaked lace.

“Fuck, Beca,” she says. She places a kiss on Beca’s shoulder as she slides her thumb inside the panties, past the barrier that kept her from Beca’s throbbing clit.

A heavy gasp leaves Beca’s lips as Chloe slides her thumb up and down. Her other hand forces the lacy bra down just far enough to place her mouth on the neglected breast beneath it. 

This time an embarrassing sound escapes Beca, but she can’t bring herself to care. She doesn’t have the power left to care about anything other than what Chloe’s hands and mouth are doing to her. 

Beca spreads her legs further. It makes Chloe falter. It makes her look down between Beca’s legs. Her eyes are locked on Beca’s pretty pussy as Beca’s chest heaves, trying to catch her breath in the short lull of activity. It doesn’t last, though, because Chloe grips her thighs and pulls her to the edge of the counter, her head lowering between them.

A shiver runs through her beneath the first hot swipe of Chloe’s tongue against her. “Fuck,” Beca blurts out. 

She’s surprisingly gentle, if not reverent, in what she’s doing. Her arms hold Beca’s hips so securely that she can’t rock them like her body’s instincts are telling her to do. Beca can’t move an inch while Chloe takes her time licking her, like she’s doing it for herself as much as for Beca. 

“God,” Beca moans.

There’s an absence of warmth between her legs. A soft kiss against her inner thigh, and she opens her eyes in time to watch as Chloe mutters, “Chloe.”

“What?” Beca breathes.

“Say my name.” She kisses the sensitive skin inside Beca’s thigh again. 

Beca can’t help but try to rock her hips, as close as she was before Chloe pulled away. Icy blue eyes meet hers as she slips one finger inside her. She doesn’t move, though, but instead waits. Beca tries to rock her hips again, to no relief.

“Chloe,” she gasps. “Please. Please.” 

Her whole body shakes when Chloe pulls her finger out only to slip two back in, her hot mouth finding Beca’s tortured cunt again. Her lips wrap around her clit, sucking while her fingers move in and out at a lazy pace. 

It’s too slow, it’s driving Beca absolutely mad. Every time pressure builds just enough, Chloe slows and retreats, keeping her release just out of reach.

“Chloe, fuck, please,” Beca begs. She pulls on Chloe’s hair, the flame inside her desperate to be stoked. “Please.”

Chloe’s tongue flattens and moves in a steady, strong circle, and a sigh of relief leaves Beca’s mouth as she knows she’s just moments from finally being given what she wants.

The last thought she can form is _she loves to be begged._ Her thighs clench together and her body shakes in waves, hips bucking out of control under Chloe’s mouth. 

Beca lays slack against the counter. Chloe’s lips kiss her thigh softly, her fingers still sliding in and out of her as she rides out the last pulses of her orgasm. Finally, she slides them out of her, and Beca knows even with closed eyes that Chloe is looking up at her now.

Her forearm comes up to cover her face. She needs another moment to recover. She can’t remember the last time she came like that—if she’s ever come that hard in her life. 

Sliding her arm up just far enough that she can peek down with just one eye, Chloe looks immeasurably happy with herself. All of Beca’s _pleases_ are no doubt echoing in her mind. 

Beca props herself up, her bra still settled haphazardly on her midsection, and glances down at her thong. It’s absolutely ruined. 

“Oh, you’re going to pay for that,” she breathes, grabbing Chloe’s face and pulling her in for a hard kiss.

***

_Two Days Later_

“The stay-at-home order has been lifted by the mayor,” Chloe mopes. She pours two cups of coffee and places the pot back on the burner.

Beca glances down at her phone. “I have six missed calls from my agent. Pretty sure that means flights are resuming, too.”

Sighing, she passes Beca a mug. “Do you have to go back?” 

“I do.” As much as she’d love to ignore the calls forever and stay here in Chloe’s arms, she agreed to a performance on New Year’s Eve. Beca doesn’t have a lot of hills she’ll die on, but honoring her word is one she’ll die on every single time.

Chloe sets her coffee on the countertop and walks right into Beca’s chest. Opening her arms and wrapping them around Chloe, she can’t help but wish she could bring Chloe back to L.A. with her. She doesn’t want to leave her. How have two days with the woman who spilled coffee on her jacket made Beca feel like she has something she can’t let go of?

Nuzzling into Beca’s neck further, Chloe wraps her arms around Beca’s bare waist tightly. Beca is only wearing a borrowed sports bra and pair of shorts from Chloe, though they’ve spent most of their time the past two days without clothes. 

She nuzzles right back, pressing her cheek into Chloe. If it wasn’t for the looming prospect of never seeing her again, it might amuse her, the way big bad Chloe becomes a huge softie when she wants Beca’s affection. 

She pulls away from Beca, only far enough that she can press a kiss to Beca’s jaw, and then so lightly against Beca’s lips.

With a lump in her throat she can’t seem to swallow, Beca can feel the pull of Chloe, the connection to her that seems to have been sewn into her. 

“When do you have to go?” Chloe asks.

“Soon. The gig is in a couple of nights, and there are things that need to be done to prepare that should have been done days ago.”

“Okay,” Chloe says with a small voice. She unwraps her arms from Beca’s waist and pulls away, but not before Beca can grab her wrist.

“I’m going to be back,” Beca tells her quietly. 

“When?”

“Next month. I have a time slot on some late-night talk show to promote my new album.”

Chloe allows herself to lean into Beca’s chest again. “A month is a long time.”

“It is,” Beca agrees. She feels a stab of pain in her chest. It’s stupid, thinking this was anything more than a fun couple of days. That it could be something real at all. She shakes her head at her own naivety, eyes cast down on the ground. 

“Guess we’ll just have to make a weekend out of it, yeah?” Chloe murmurs.

Beca pauses. “What?”

Chloe presses another kiss to Beca’s lips. Despite the whiplash, Beca cradles Chloe’s jaw and kisses her back slowly, savoring the sensation of those too-perfect lips.

Chloe grasps the hand against her cheek and holds it in her own. “A month is a long time. But I’d wait so much longer for you.”


End file.
